


The Choking Kind

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, M/M, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-28
Updated: 2004-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-26 23:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12068973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Set in middle season two after the Jason Kemp episode. Brian finds himself in a situation he never thought he would.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Hands are pressing against my sides. Rough palms gripping my skin, fingers digging into my hips. It hurts and I can’t stop it. I can’t push him away. All I can do is breathe in and out. Not me. This isn’t happening to me. Not Brian Kinney. This couldn’t happen to Brian Kinney. He’s talking now. Husky voice and dirty words. Words that float down to my back and sear into my skin. Words claiming me and controlling me. 

When his hard dick presses against the crease of my ass I cry out. In my mind I can hear the high-pitched scream but I know that hot air and a strangled grunt is all that I could get out. My right cheek is pressed against the mattress and I’m drooling. I can feel the spit soaking the sheet, pooling against my chin and lips. I jerk my wrists against the ropes one last time and I wince from the pain. The rough material has rubbed my wrists raw and I know this is it. There’s no escaping. 

All those warnings over the years from Mikey. _Be careful who you take home. Don’t go home with a stranger. Stay in public._ I used to laugh at him. I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself. A finger pushes into my ass, dry and hard and painful. 

“You like that?” a deep voice says above me. I shut my eyes and push back the tears as I feel my quivering hole rip and stretch around the intruder. I open my eyes and stare out at the dirty wall of the hotel room I had entered willingly not even an hour ago. I buck as he pulls his finger out, my body trying to relax against the sheets. I’m shaking. I’m cold. I’m sweating. I’m scared. 

More words. Words that I want to grab and throw back down his throat. His arm snakes between my stomach and the bed and he pulls me up on all fours. I struggle to my knees trying to relieve the intense pain that just shot through my arms, tied at an old angle behind my back. His hand grips my cock and he squeezes hard. I want to scream. If I scream someone will hear. Someone will stop this. Someone will come. But I can’t scream. I can’t catch my breath long enough to even speak a word. 

More sloppy strokes on my cock. A dry, rough palm rubbing my tender skin hard and fast. The pain is nothing like anything I’ve ever felt before. And then he does it. The head of his cock at my sore ass and he pushes in. No lube, no spit, no pre-come. Nothing. Just a hard member spearing me. Ripping me. Breaking me. He lets go of my cock and leans over, gripping the ends of my hair. He pulls hard and my neck is jerked back. A stretching pain shoots to my spine and he starts to thrust. 

Fast and hard. His body crashing against mine. I’m being ripped apart and that’s when it hits me. There’s no condom. He’s fucking me without a condom. The warning that I gave Justin weeks ago runs through my head and at the back of my mind I see my hands gripping his neck. Fresh tears spring to my eyes at the thought. I shouldn’t even have joked about it. 

The moans above me brings me back to the moment and I finally cry out. Long and loud. This could be Justin. I could have done this to Justin that first night. He’s at home now. Probably asleep at the computer desk. Blonde hair glowing under the small desk lamp--Oh God. No. Stop. You have to stop now. I can’t. No. 

I know I’m thinking the words. Mouthing them probably. But no sound comes out. He’s reaching around, this time reaching lower, squeezing my balls hard. My hands tighten into fists and I tense up. 

No. Not that. Too much. No. 

My cock is still soft, falling down to rub against the bed with the movements the stranger is forcing upon me. I find my voice just as his pace quickens. 

“Stop,” I whisper. If he hears me he doesn’t acknowledge my plea. I try and raise my head from the spit-soaked bed sheet. 

“I said stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.” I’m saying it over and over. In time with his thrusts. He comes, his hands gripping my slender hips. And then I feel a sharp blow to the back of my head and I’m falling into black.

***

I wake to a car horn. My eyes flutter open and I try to swallow. It stings. My throat is rough and sore. I stare up at a dirty ceiling and I don’t know where I’m at. I start to roll over onto my side and a sharp pain shoots from my lower back to my ass. And then I remember. I sit up quickly, wincing at the pain. My entire body is tight and tense. My clothes are scattered across the floor. I’m alone in the room. I dress as fast as I can. Pushing through the ache that tears through my body.

I can’t find my shoes. And I don’t want to waste time trying to find them. I make my way to the door. It won’t open. I pull harder. Finally I hear it crack open and I pull it towards me. The sunlight stings my eyes and I raise my hand to shield them. My jeep is parked a few spots down. I limp towards it and pull open the door. It takes a minute to lift myself up into it. I feel around in my pockets for the keys and I’m surprised to see that they’re still in the ignition.

***

I can’t get the loft door open. My arms are limp and sore. My shoulders cramped and bruised. I struggle with the metal bar. Pulling and tugging. I hear footsteps in the loft and then the door is sliding open. Justin’s sleepy face and tired eyes staring up at me.

“Are you just now getting home? What time is it?” He’s still in his clothes from yesterday and when I walk in I can see the computer desk covered in papers, lamp still on. I was right. He did fall asleep there. I hear the door slid shut behind me and Justin comes up behind me. He reaches around me and squeezes me from behind. I cry out. Sharp tendrils of pain running through my body. 

“Brian?” he asks concerned. I can’t look at him. I stand there for a moment, not knowing exactly what to do. I put one foot in front of the other and finally I’m entering the bathroom. Justin follows me. I sit my hands down on the cold counter and slowly raise my eyes. I see myself in the mirror and that’s when the tears come. Wet, hot, tears streaming down my face. Then I’m sobbing. The choking kind of sob that rips through your throat and pulls your pain out through sound. My knees go weak and my torn body falls to the floor. Justin’s voice is shrill, his small hands touching me everywhere. Trying to calm me down. 

They’re cold and comforting against my bruised skin. Finally I look at him. He’s blurry through my tears. But I can see him. His blue eyes filled with concern. I see his mouth moving. I don’t know what he’s saying. There’s a loud roar in my ears. And then I’m falling into black.


	2. The Choking Kind

Familiar hands are pushing my matted hair from my forehead. I open my eyes and watch as Justin places a wet towel against my cheeks and neck. He presses it against my forehead with both hands and stares at me through wet eyes. 

“Brian. Are you ok? What do you want me to do? Should I call someone?” His bottom lip quivers and I slump further against the sink cabinets behind me. 

“I just want to lay down,” I whisper. There’s a bit of a burn in the back of my throat and the corners of my mouth ache when I speak. Justin helps me to a standing position and I make my way quickly to the bed. The soft, familiar mattress surrounds my senses as I sigh in relief. I reach up and rub the tears from my eyes. It’s then that I see the deep, red rope burns on my wrists. Justin sees them too as he sits down beside me, the bed dipping under his weight. 

“What happened?” He reaches out and presses his soft fingers against the tiny cuts and scratches. I jerk away from him. 

“Don’t touch me,” I snap. And that’s when the anger comes. It comes from deep down inside. Primal and strong. I watch Justin’s eyes widen and the confusion that clouds there. 

“Brian talk to me. What happened last night? Were you in an accident? Should you go to the hospital? Is the jeep--” 

“The jeep is fine. Thanks for asking.” I feel the words more then hear them coming out of me. My eyelids turn to slits as I glare at him. “The jeep is fine. I’m fine. Just leave me the fuck alone. You have class.” 

The roar is still in my ears. I close my eyes. When I open them again I’m alone in the loft. Suddenly the roar stops and everything is silent. I can hear a bird chirping. Cars passing by down below. My eyelids suddenly feel very heavy. The next thing I’m aware of are hands on my chest, fingers working the buttons of my shirt. I reach out and grab the wrist before even opening my eyes. When I do I’m staring up into Justin’s determined face. 

“These clothes reek. You’re stinking up _our_ bed.” 

I look around and I see that it’s nighttime. I’ve slept through the day. Justin’s still in his clothes from yesterday and I remember sending him out of the loft this morning. I’m busy trying to catch up on what the fuck is going on and I haven’t noticed that he’s pushed open my shirt. 

He gasps and I feel his finger tips running over my stomach. I lean up on the pillows slightly and look at what he’s looking at. Long scratches from my chest to my lower belly. Nails. His. His marks. Justin’s crying now. I can see from the look on his face that he doesn’t want to but he can’t help it. 

“Just tell me what happened!” he sobs. I sit up and shrug the shirt off. Justin scoots closer and leans around to examine my back. I don’t know what it is but when his palm presses against something it stings and I wince. When he sits back in front of me his eyes connect with mine and I can’t tell him. I don’t know how. What to say. How to say it. His expression changes to something unreadable and then he undoes the button and zipper of my jeans. He slides them down. I have no underwear on. I wasn’t able to find them this morning. 

There are bruises on my thighs. Justin starts to throw the pants in the floor but then he sees it. Crimson stains on the back of the jeans. I look down to see deep stains on the sheets also. I’m still bleeding. He ripped me apart and I’m still bleeding. That’s when Justin realizes. I didn’t get into a fight or a wreck. His head is tilted and he’s shaking it back and forth slowly. The word “no” is on his lips. Only he’s just mouthing it. No sound is coming out. 

He gets up and goes into the kitchen. I stare down at my wrists. They sting every time the brush up against the bed or even my sides. Just anything. Justin comes back with a small box and I recognize it as the cheap first-aid kit I purchased years ago. It’s been sitting in a drawer in the kitchen for years, untouched. 

“Roll over,” he says. There’s not a catch in his voice. No sob or cry. He just says it matter-of-factly and I’m thankful for that. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to talk about this now. So I’m just grateful he’s not asking questions. I’m ashamed. But even more so exhausted and in pain. My pride is squished way down below both. 

I roll over onto my stomach and press my face into the pillow, breathing in and out against the smothering material. Justin hovers above me and I hear the click of the plastic box. And then fingers are softly spreading my ass cheeks and tears stream down my face. I’ll not make a sound. I will not cry out. Now I feel fresh blood from the tears in my skin. Justin whimpers from watching it. 

“This might sting,” he whispers, there’s a catch in his voice now and he’s crying. I’m guessing it’s disinfectant that he’s rubbing over my hole with a cotton ball. The slight sting from the liquid is nothing compared to the sting I feel from just moving my body the tiniest bit. Justin starts swabbing cotton balls over the scratches on my back. There must be a really bad one because before he starts to clean it his hand reaches down to stroke my side. It stings like something awful and I bite my bottom lip till it bleeds. 

The pillow is soaked under my cheek from my tears. Justin finishes. He goes over to the closet and comes back with my favorite wool blanket. He lays it over me and then crawls under it beside me. His face is inches away from mine but I won’t look him in the eye. 

“Just sleep tonight. Tomorrow we can talk--” 

“I don’t want to talk,” I snap. I meet his eyes. “And I don’t want to sleep with you. Go sleep on the couch.” 

Justin’s face is passive. He nods and rolls out from under the cover. I can hear his bare feet on the wooden floor as he makes his way to the bathroom. Minutes pass and I hear the shower start. I close my eyes and wait for him to finish. Finally he does and he goes over to the couch. When he settles in and turns out the light I finally allow myself to drift off into sleep.


	3. The Choking Kind

There's a yellow post-it note on the pillow beside me when I wake up. I reach over and pick it up. I'm relieved to find that my arms are not as sore as they were yesterday. I blink and then rub my eyes until the tiny scrawl on the post-it comes into focus. 

_Michael called. Told him you were sick. He won’t bother you._

I crumble the tiny piece of paper in my hand and then drop it on the floor as I struggle to get out from under the heavy blanket to go to the bathroom. Standing up I can feel the muscles in my legs and back stretching. I’m sore, but only as much as I would be after a heavy work-out. The floor is cold beneath my feet and I raise my arms above my head, stretching my shoulders and then pulling tighter to stretch my lower back. It hurts but I ignore the stinging in the stretches of my muscles. 

At first my back is to the mirror. I reach in the shower and turn it on, letting the water warm up. Finally I turn around and let my eyes trail over my body. Long, thin scratches over my stomach. The skin on my wrists is completely scraped off. There’s a bite mark on my neck and I don’t even remember how it got there. My thighs look normal. But my cock is an unusually bright pink. I reach down to give it a stroke and the soft palm of my hand feels like sandpaper against it. My balls hang between my thighs and I can even feel a tight, uncomfortable stretch in them. 

My eyes trail back up my body until I’m staring back at myself. There are thick bags under my eyes and my face is pale and tight. My hair is oily and matted to the sides of my face. I turn away now, opening the shower door and sliding in. The water’s not any hotter then it usually is but it burns. Running over every cut and scratch. Over every bruise covering my shoulders and back. It runs down my ass and stings the ripped skin there. 

My wrists hurt the most. I’ll be scarred. I’m sure of it. And then I allow myself to really think about what happened. Why I’m standing here looking at my broken body. These rope burns on my wrists. Someone did this to me. And for the life of me I can’t see his face. It was dark in Babylon. Dark in the alley that we took to my jeep. Dark in the room. I’m vaguely aware that I’ve dropped to my knees, sitting in the pooling water at the bottom of the shower. I press my forehead against the glass. I pull back and then bang it back against the glass, hard. I can feel the thick material shake under the pressure. 

I do it again. And again. I’m probably bruising my forehead. But honestly, that’s the only part of me that isn’t. I don’t know how long I’m there. How long I’m sitting under that spray. Suddenly the door opens and Justin’s pushing himself under the spray. I realize for the first time that it’s turned cold. The water’s turned cold. 

He sets me back against the wall, my back resting against the tile. His hands are everywhere. Pushing the wet strands of hair out of my eyes. Running over my cheeks and lips. My neck. His finger tips press against the bite mark and I stare up at him with expressionless eyes. He presses his hand against my hot, bruised forehead and I want to wince. Only I can’t. Any facial expression right now is too much. If I move one inch everything is going to come toppling down and that’ll be it. 

Justin’s clothes are soaked. He pulls me up and lets me lean against him as he walks me back to the bedroom. I sit down on the bed, hands folded properly in my lap, legs crossed at the ankle. Justin pulls off his jacket and throws it on the floor before coming over to me. 

“I d-I don’t know what you want me to do,” he says softly. I have to crane my neck to stare up at him, he’s standing so close. I let my eyes fall down his body until they’re staring straight in front of me at his lower stomach. I lift one hand to tug on the bottom of his shirt. Small droplets of water hit my scraped wrist. It kind of feels good. I lift his heavily soaked shirt slightly and stare at his belly button. I raise my other hand and flatten my fingers against the soft skin just below it. I can feel some of his pubes against my lower arm, the button of his jeans. I look back up at him and I can tell by the look on his face that whatever facial expression I’m making now hurts him. I can tell that it’s a vulnerable side of me that he’s never seen before and probably never wanted to see. 

But I’m too tired to keep up my act. He licks his lips and then pulls his shirt over his head. Water droplets fall onto my cheeks from the shirt as he discards it. I press the tips of my fingers against his soft sides. I bring my hands up and let my palms run down over his toned chest. He reaches out to touch my cheek and I jerk away from him. The moment is over and I reach over to pull out some sweat pants from a drawer. Justin takes a step back and then mumbles something about “Soup” before going into the kitchen. I pull the silky pants up over my legs, over my knees. I stand up and pull them up to my waist. 

In the bathroom I reach for my comb. Slowly I comb the hair off of my face. My eyes are still sullen and my face is still drawn but it’s an improvement. I lay back down in bed and wait for my soup. Justin carries it on a tray and sets it down beside me. I grab the bowl, making sure he’s not entertaining any fucking ideas about spoon feeding me. One bite and then I realize just how hungry I am. I finish it off in mere minutes. Justin goes back to the kitchen and when he returns he has some buttered toast on a paper plate. I snatch it from his hand and then eat it quickly. 

“Thanks,” I say matter-of-factly. He opens his mouth to say something, leaning towards me. The door buzzer sounds and Justin pulls back. 

“Whoever it is I’ll tell them to go away,” he says over his shoulder as he walks away. I can hear soft voices but I can’t make out who’s at the door. I get up, moving around the tray on the bed. I pull a worn out gray t-shirt over my head and pad down the stairs from the bedroom. 

“Hey Mikey,” I smile, coming up to the door. I lean over and kiss him at the corner of his mouth, patting the back of his neck affectionately. 

“Ew. Don’t give me your germs!” he shrills. He hands over a plastic bowl. “This is from Ma. She said if you’re sick you’re going to want her pasta.” 

“She’s right. I always crave her cooking when I’m sick and I want to puke,” I say, a forced twitch of a smile at the corner of my mouth. Mikey shrugs and reaches out to pat my side. I start to jerk away from him but I force myself not to. He says something about seeing me when I get better and then turns to leave. Justin slides the door shut and then walks towards the living room. He stops, crosses his arms, his back to me. 

“Come to bed,” I throw in his direction before setting the pasta down on the counter and going back to the bedroom. A few minutes later he’s turned out all the lights in the loft. I can hear soft footsteps as he comes around to his side of the bed. I can hear the rustling of his clothes as he undresses. He sits down on the bed and tentatively pulls back the blanket and crawls underneath. I scoot over a bit closer. His back isn’t quite pressing against my stomach but it’s so close I can feel the heat from his skin. His underwear covered ass barely presses up against my groin and I don’t jump away from the contact. 

I dream that night. Dreams of jumping off of cliffs and falling. Falling into black. Falling into dark and heat. I wake up ever so often and listen to Justin’s breathing. Each time I drift off back into sleep only to fall again.


	4. The Choking Kind

It’s Monday morning and Cynthia is yelling at me from my answering machine. I’m an hour late and I have a meeting after lunch. I can’t remember with who. Jameson? The shampoo people? I don’t know. I shower and dress quickly. The loft is quiet and empty. The suit is itchy and restricting and all I want to do is throw it to the floor and fall back into bed. 

I come out of the conference room rubbing my eyes furiously. They’re tired and puffy and stinging. Cynthia smiles from behind her desk as her eyes fall to my neck. She’s staring at the bite mark with a knowing smile. She thinks Justin put it there. She winks and I want to slap her. In fact I’m moving towards her desk right now. I can already feel the sting of my palm after smacking her cheek with a loud crack. I reach out my arm and then I hear Vance call for me. 

“Brian. Did you fax those figures to Thomas?” I stop inches from Cynthia’s desk and sigh. 

“No. I’m doing it now.” I pass her desk on the way to my office and I glare. She’s lucky Vance stepped out of that office. 

Ted calls to ask if I want to meet the guys at Woody’s tonight. He asks if I’m feeling better. Michael said I was under the weather. I hang up on him without a word. He calls back and Cynthia buzzes my office to tell me he’s on line one. I buzz her back and tell her to go fist herself in the bathroom or something and leave me the fuck alone. I’m a shit to everyone who crosses my path. Oddly it seems as if that’s nothing new. 

I’m the last one in the building that night. I’m alone in my office. All the lights are out except for the small lamp on my desk. The air conditioner kicks in and the soft rumble overcomes my senses. I come home late. Eleven. Maybe twelve. Blue light tumbles out of the bedroom and I make my way up the stairs, tugging off my tie. Justin’s curled up in the middle of the bed, the extra blanket that he’d laid on there the other day is squished into a ball. He’s hugging it to his chest. 

I’m glad to rid myself of the confining suit. I let it fall to the floor, shedding it off like a snake sheds skin. And then I’m naked in the blue light. I run the palms of my hands over my sides and then my hips and I breathe in heavily. The bed dips under my weight and I scoot Justin over to his side of the bed. His eyes flutter open and he stares up at me. He opens his mouth to say something and I lean over to press my lips against his. His lips are wet and soft, familiar and warm. His hand comes up to cup my cheek. His chin is covered in blonde stubble and it rubs against my chin and cheeks. It feels like…the rope did on my wrists. But I don’t pull away. 

I pull back only to lay down beside him and push myself closer. His fingers are threading through my hair and tickling the back of my neck. He moans softly and it’s the only sound in the last couple days that I’ve been able to stand. His hand runs over my shoulder, down my spine. 

I tell him then. I start from the beginning and whisper the words so low that he has to strain to hear them. I think it takes an hour or so. Because I keep pausing to swallow and catch my breath and close my eyes to fight back the tears that want to come. When I’m finished Justin asks the single thing that I’d somehow skipped over. 

His voice is soft and questioning. “Did he use a condom?” 

I swallow hard and I can’t look him in the eye. I roll over away from him, his hot breath now on the back of my neck.

***

Two months later I’m at the dinner with Emmett and Ted. The newspaper is spread in front of us and as I reach for the business section I catch a glimpse of a picture in the obituaries. Kennard Rupert died yesterday in his home. Suicide. The picture is a mug shot dated two years ago. There are no family members and I’m guessing the only reason he’s in the paper is that someone needs to claim him. Burials have to be paid for by someone.

Ted asks me if I’m ok. I’m looking pale. I slide out of the booth and head towards the jeep. When I get home Justin’s not there so I sit down on the couch and wait. A few hours later he comes in and smiles over at me. 

“Hey. What are you doing home?” He comes over to me and sits down on my lap. 

“I called in today.” 

“Really? Why?” he tilts his head and then presses a kiss against my jaw. 

“He’s dead,” I say quickly. 

“What? Brian? Who?” Justin’s face is filled with concern and he looks like he’s about to cry. 

“The guy--the man--the person--who--his name was Kennard. He killed himself yesterday. He’s in the paper.” 

It takes Justin a second and then he nods and pulls my face against his chest. I cry softly. Not the choking kind of cry that pulls up all of your pain through sound. But the healing kind that you know you need. He holds me against him for a long time. The only sound is our breathing and the sounds of traffic down on the street.

***

Four months pass and I sit down at the desk in the loft. I sift through the mail and there it is. My test results. I’ve not entered Justin in nearly six months for fear of what I could have. Handjobs and blowjobs and dildos and anal beads and everything but that. I turn the envelope over several times in my hand. Finally I push my finger under the flap and carelessly tear it open. There’s so much writing and usually I scan it quickly and throw it in the trash. But this time is different. I read each word carefully. Even my fucking address at the top. The insurance information. The payment. And then there it is.

 _Negative._

Justin comes bounding through the door an hour later and I’m still sitting there at the desk, the thin piece of paper laying on the keyboard in front of me. He comes up behind me and puts his arms around me, hands snaking down my chest. His chin rests on the top of my head and I grab the paper and hold it up in front of us. He reads it quickly and then turns me around in the rolling chair. He’s smiling down at me, relief and happiness covering his face. 

We don’t make it to the bed. We’re struggling on the floor to get our clothes off and when I enter him, my cock pressing through each ring of muscle, I know this is how it’s supposed to be. Not forced upon someone. I somehow can’t stop worrying. I keep asking him if I’m hurting him and he just smiles and runs his fingers down my bicep and over the insides of my elbows. 

We’re a sweaty mess when it’s over and his legs keep sliding off of my back and down my thighs. He stares up at me through tired eyes, his cheeks pink and flushed. We fall asleep on the floor, my face pressed against his soft neck and his arm wrapped tightly around me.


End file.
